


Talking In Code

by relised



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Drug Use, M/M, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relised/pseuds/relised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I didn't sign up for crazy, and there isn't a silver lining in real life." Nine months in a mental institution for almost killing a guy maybe the easiest part of Ian snapping. Getting his life back with Mickey in it, however, not so easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started sometime after Terry walked in on Ian and Mickey. He had showed back up at the group home, half his face swollen and looking paler than Lip had ever seen him. Ian stood shaking in front of him, looking desperately at Lip like he had no idea what to do. Lip grabbed his arm, leading him into the bathroom and away from prying eyes.

“What happened?” He asked, wetting a paper towel and gently pressing it to the cut next to Ian’s eye.

“T-T-Terry walked in on us,” Ian whispered, his eyes wide as he stared around the room. “Mick got him off me but he beat the shit out of Mickey and pistol whipped him. Then he called in the Russian…”

“He called a hit on you two and you’re still standing here?” Lip asked, rubbing gently at the dried blood under Ian’s nose.

“It wasn’t a hit,” Ian mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed as Lip pressed another cold towel to his temple, Lip’s hands wrapped around the back of his head to keep him still. “The Russian was a prostitute.  Terry called her in to ‘fuck the faggot’ out of Mickey. He made me watch.”

“Jesus,” Lip whispered, grabbing Ian’s jaw and pushing his head back to see if he missed anything. “Just keep your head down, okay? Stay away from Mickey and Terry until things calm down. You’re not going to do anyone any favors by running off to check on Mickey. Let him deal with it, okay?”

“I…I can’t just leave him there. What if his dad kills him? Huh, Lip? What do you think Terry Milkovich will do with a gay son?”

“Call in some girl to fuck it out of him,” Lip said simply, gently pulling Ian to his feet. “Milkovich’s take care of their own. He’ll try to fix Mickey before he’d kill him. As long as Mickey plays along, you’ll both be fine.” Ian swallowed thickly, nodding his head as Lip lead him back into the common area.

“When can we go home?” Ian mumbled, throwing himself down on his bed.

“Soon. Now get some rest. I’ll keep watch.” Ian swallowed thickly again, nodding as he closed his eyes.

They were home within the next week, everyone laughing and having a good time. And Ian tried to be happy along with them. He laughed and splashed around in the pool and rolled his eyes when Fiona gushed about how excited she was to have them all home. But every night when he crawled into his familiarly lumpy bed, he felt so miserable he just wanted to give up.

Mickey wouldn’t talk to him. Ian had tried everything, completely ignoring Lip’s warning. He’d tried making Mickey laugh, tried showing how concerned he was, he’d even yelled Mickey to look at him. But Mickey always ignored him, shooting away at some creepy ass doll or flicking his cigarette at Ian before running off.  And Ian couldn’t even express how much that hurt. And so he closed down.

Lip stared down at Ian, pulling at his hair as he tried to get Ian out of bed. He nudged Ian a couple times, sighing when he got no response. He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Ian’s back. Ian sighed, rolling in tighter on himself.

“Come on, buddy,” Lip whispered. “You’ve got to go to work.”

“Mmm,” Ian moaned, throwing an arm over his head. “Tell Linda I’m sick.”

“Ian, get up,” Lip said, his voice stronger and more confident.

“No,” Ian said, pulling his pillow over his face.

“Damn it, Ian!”

“Just leave me alone,” he moaned, latching onto the headboard when Lip tried to pull him off the bed.

“Fuck it,” Lip said, slamming the door behind him as he left.

A couple days later Ian was up and back to work and all around himself that Lip was starting to believe he’d imagine him moping around for days. Lip was heading to the Kash and Grab to meet Ian as he left work. He stopped dead in his tracks tough when he saw his little brother talking to some guy on the corner. Ian handed him a wad of cash from his pocket and the guy slid Ian a small plastic bag at the same time. They did some little secret hand shake that Lip had never seen before, each giving the other a small head nod before turning in opposite directions. Lip sighed, running to catch up with Ian.

“Who was that?” He asked, grabbing Ian’s elbow. Ian shrugged, glancing over his shoulder.

“TJ Manuzack. Lives over on Smith,” Ian sad with another shrug.

“What did you buy from him?” Lip asked, reaching out of Ian’s pocket. Ian smacked his hand away, glaring at Lip.

“Nothing for you.”

“Since when did you start using anything stronger than weed?” Lip asked, glaring at Ian. “Do you want to end up like Frank and Monica?”

“It’s fine, Phillip,” Ian sneered, glaring at Lip. “It’s just a little E. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Jesus. Are you that wrapped up on Mickey fucking Milkovich that you’re going to go down Frank’s path? Huh?”

“This has nothing to do with Mickey,” Ian sneered, pushing Lip away from him. “I just want to feel good. This makes me feel good. Now fuck off.”  With that, Ian turned and ran away from Lip.

Ian didn’t come home that night. Lip looked everywhere he could think, even asking Mandy to check her house in case Ian had gone there for some reason. He was nowhere to be found. He came up with some lie to tell Fiona so she didn’t know Ian had ran off with a bag of ecstasy in his pocket. He lay awake, occasionally glancing over at Ian’s empty bed.

Ian snuck in side around 6:30, falling face first in his bed. Lip stared at him for a long time before silently jumping down from the top bunk. He crossed the room, pulling the desk chair with him. He sat in front of Ian’s bed, his arms crossed. After a few moments, Ian sighed and rolled over so he was facing Lip.

“I’m sorry,” the red head whispered, and Lip had to hide his surprise when he saw Ian’s eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t know why I yelled at you like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Lip said, patting Ian’s back. “It’s fine. Just…Just get some sleep, buddy, okay?”

“Yeah…Yeah thanks,” Ian whispered, letting his head fall down on the pillow. Lip sighed, standing and pulling on a pair of jeans before slipping out the bedroom door.

Mandy had told him that Mickey had been staying at their aunt Rande’s, too afraid to go back to his own home incase Terry wanted to continue where he’d left off. The only thing was, Mandy didn’t realize that the reason their dad was so mad at Mickey was because Mickey was gay. And Lip wasn’t stupid enough to tell her. Lip sighed, hesitating at the base of the stairs, locked in a chain length fence. He tried the gate, but the lock held. He pulled out his phone, hesitating before dialing the number he had stolen from Ian. It rang for a long time before finally a tired Mickey answered the phone.

“’Lo?” he mumbled. Lip let out a sigh of relief.

“Mickey, it’s Lip,” he said and Mickey groaned.

“Dude it’s like 7am. What the fuck are you calling me for?”

“It’s an emergency. I need to talk to you, like now. It’s about Ian.” And Lip knew he had said the magic word. That or he was going to get himself punched in the face.

“Fine,” Mickey growled. “I’ll fucking be down in a minute. But so help me god this better be important.” With that, he ended the call and Lip sighed, sitting down so he was leaning against the fence.

A few minutes later Mickey came outside, scuffing his feet of the ground as he walked. He spit off the side of the stairs, pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his sweatshirt pocket and lighting it. He was only wearing his hoddie and a pair of boxers, a pair of slippers on his feet. He got to the gate, pulling a key from his pocket to undo the lock. Mickey held the gate open as Lip slipped inside. They went up and sat at a table on the deck.

“What’s so fucking important that you had to wake me up 7 in the fucking morning?” Mickey asked after a few moments of silence, and Lip could pick up on the worry in his voice. “Firecrotch get his ass kicked or something?”

“Not yet,” Lip mumbled, ducking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “Before…Before your dad walked in on you guys, was he acting weird?”

“He told you about that?” Mickey asked, his eyes wide.

“Mickey, I’ve known about you guys since it started. And I was the one who cleaned him when he stumbled back to the group home after your dad got a hold of him. Now tell me, was he acting off before then?”

“No?” Mickey said, taking another puff of his cigarette. “I mean he was kind of moping around about you guys being taken by DFS. And I guess kind of stand-offish about who was fucking who. But that’s it. Why?”

“He’s been acting weird. Not getting out of bed for days then running around like nothing ever happened. I caught him being E from TJ Manuzack that other day and then he lashed out at me.  He stayed out all night then came crying to me about how sorry he was. He’s acting like Frank. Or worse. Monica. He says it’s not about you, but how am I supposed to believe that? He wasn’t like this until you stopped talking to him.”

“What do you want from me?” Mickey asked, staring straight ahead and not meeting Lip’s eyes. “I’m staying away from him to keep him safe. Being seen with me is just going to get one of us killed. Don’t you get that?”

“Well at the rate Ian’s going, he’s going to get himself killed. Just talk to him, please.”

“Why the fuck do I need to do it? Can’t you just talk to him?” Mickey asked, stubbing out his cigarette and getting up and pacing.

“He won’t listen to me. And I don’t want to get Fiona involved until I absolutely have to. He’ll listen you.”

“Yeah? I don’t see what’s the problem with Gallagher loosening up a little bit.”

“You’re mom died, Mickey, so you’ve never had to experience the absent mom who randomly takes off because we’re cramping her style. The bipolar bitch who takes and takes and takes until a mood swing hits and then takes off. A parent who takes all her problems out on a crack pipe and only cares about that. I don’t want that for my little brother. And If that means you’ve got to talk to him, then you’re going to fucking talk to him.”

Mickey flinched, remembering the kind woman who had been his mother before things went to shit. When Terry started getting arrested on a regular basis, his mom started using. It had only taken a year and a half before she overdosed, leaving her five kids alone. And he understood that it had to be harder to deal with a women who constantly came in and out of your life. He sighed, letting his head bounce off the side of house. He sighed, letting his head fall back as he turned to Lip.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him. But that’s it. I don’t want involved in this shit.” With that Mickey went back in the house, slamming the door behind him.

Mickey followed Ian later that day, keeping at least a block between them so Ian didn’t know he was being followed. Mickey didn’t know what he was going to say. He’d been thinking about it all morning; thinking about how to snap Ian out of this funk he’d fallen into. Mickey rubbed nervously at his bottom lip, lighting a cigarette as he went. He looked around, trying to figure out where Ian was leading them but Mickey had no clue.

Eventually, Ian stopped at a bar on the North Side with an outdoor patio. He showed a man at the door an ID that Mickey new was fake before slipping inside. Mickey sighed, crossing the street and leaning against a wall to wait.

Ian stood at the bar, asking for a Rum and Coke before crossing the patio and sitting at a table that faced the way he came. He leaned with his head on one arm, sipping at his drink. He stopped when he felt a hand on his back.

“Ian?” the voice said, and he sighed before turning around to see who it was. Roger Spikey stood behind him, a busty blonde hanging on his other arm. Roger’s mom had married rich after his dad split and they’d been living on the north side ever since. Ian gulped, his eyes going wide.

“Roger,” he said, trying to straighten his posture. “How are you?”

“Great, great man! This is Alexis, my girlfriend. Lex, this is Ian. We used to go to school together on the south side.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian said, giving Alexis a small smile as he took another gulp of his drink.

“Glad to see you haven’t gotten yourself killed over there. You still wanting to go into the military?” Roger asked, pulling up a chair next to Ian’s table. Alexis excused himself, walking off to talk to some other girl.

“Uh, yeah. I hoping to get into West Point but I’m not sure I’ll have the grades. It’s kind of a waiting game right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that, man. You got a boyfriend?” Roger asked, leaning forward on the table.

“I, uh, no,” Ian said quietly, running a hand through his hair. “Not right now, no. Things kind of went to shit lately.”

“That’s too bad,” Roger said, waving at a waiter who walked past for a beer. Alexis crossed over then, sitting down next to Roger. “You always gave the best head.”

Ian choked on his drink, clearing his throat a couple times. He glanced at Roger who had a devilish grin on his face.

“I heard you’ve been quite the little slut since I graduated, Ian,” Roger said. Ian bit his lip looking away. “I even heard you were fucking the Milkovich kid and some old guy from the north side. Sure do get around, don’t you Ian? I think I always knew you’d be a little slut.”

Ian gripped the edge of the table, grinding his teeth. It was one thing when Lip would tease him about that. But the guy who took his virginity was calling him a whore and Ian didn’t know what to say.

“See, the thing is, Gallagher,” Roger said, leaning back in his chair with his arm around Alexis. “You were just a little experiment for me. A little game of pick the freshman fag and see what you can get him to do. And God did you do everything. I never knew a fag could moan like that. So really all those old guys who probably pay you for sex? They can thank me for you. Ain’t that right?”

And Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Roger Spikey was the first guy he’d ever loved. Or so he thought. Roger had been older and had had a car; something that was rare on the sour side. He’d drive Ian around and compliment him and tell him how great he was. He’d tell Ian that once he got old enough they’d both get out of Chicago and live some place where it wouldn’t get you killed for being out. And at the time Ian had believed it. Roger had taken his virginity and the streak of innocence that hadn’t been snuffed out of him by Monica. And even after Roger had taken off, moved to the north side with his mom and his rich step-dad, Ian still believed that he was a good guy. Ian guessed he’d always been naïve.

One minute he was listening to Roger tear down what was left of his wall, and the next minute someone was dragging him off Roger, his fist bleeding and throbbing. He looked down, realizing that the bloody wheezing mess on the floor was Roger. The man’s face was already swollen and bruised, a rib poking out of the torn shirt and skin.

“I-I-oh God,” Ian whispered, trying to pull away from the arms that were holding him. He could hear the sirens and knew he’d fucked up. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, curling in on himself.

Mickey watched in horror as Ian jumped the table, knocking the guy who had been sitting next to him out of the tall chair. Ian landed several solid punches to the guy’s face, kicking him in the ribs several times. He could hear the girl who’d been sitting with them screaming and people were running over to the commotion in the corner. Mickey watched in horror as a waiter pulled Ian off the guy, his limbs flailing as they backed away. Mickey glanced down there street where red and blue flashing lights were coming towards them. He started to cross the street, hesitating when he realized that there was no way he could get Ian out of this. Mickey punched the wall he was hiding behind, watching as two cops entered the bar’s patio, one pulling Ian’s arms behind his back and putting a pair of cuffs on him.

“I didn’t meant to!” Mickey could hear Ian yell, struggling to pull away from the cop for only a moment before his legs seemed to give out on him. “I didn’t…I don’t know what happened.”

Mickey came out of the alley, watching as Ian was pushed into the back of a cop car, another car pulling up and taking over questioning the crowd. Mickey swore under his breath, pulling out his phone and calling Lip.

“We’ve got a problem,” he growled into the phone when Lip picked up. Mickey sighed as he relayed the story, heading back to the south side.   


	2. Chapter 2

Ian sat on the bench in the police department, his head leaning forward. It reminded him of the last time he’d been here, but this time he was by himself and Lip wasn’t there to get him out of it. He’d panicked when it came to his one phone call, and finally he’d decided to call Fiona but telling her to call Lloyd. He’d have access to a lawyer. Or at least Ian assumed he would.

“Okay, kid,” Tony said, coming out and rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Let’s get you through booking.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ian whispered, standing slowly when Tony unchained him from the bench. “I don’t even remember lunging for him. He was just saying these really awful things to me and then I was being pulled off of him.”

“Just don’t say anything, Ian. Leave that for your lawyer,” Tony said, leading Ian by his arm to a computer set up. He entered Ian’s information, every once in a while glancing up to give him what he probably thought was a comforting smile. It didn’t help though. “Okay, give me your hand,” Tony said, gently holding his fingers against the sensor to get his fingerprints. He then led Ian to a wall, having him stand in front of some lines marking his height. “Just gotta get your mug shot,” Tony whispered, and Ian nodded, staring with dead eyes at the camera.

Tony led him down the hall, past cells filled with large, scary men. Ian held his breath as they walked through, letting the air gush out of him when Tony stopped in front of an empty cell. He ducked to unlock Ian’s cuffs before gently pushing him in before shutting the gate behind him.

“I’ll do what I can to keep you safe, but I can’t promise anything, okay? I’ll work with Fiona to get you a public attorney that isn’t too shity. But you almost killed the guy, Ian. This is serious.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ian whispered, his hands on the bar.

“I know. But I’m not sure how they can get you off on this.” Ian looked away, his eyes welling up as he nodded. “Just keep your head down until we figure things out, okay?”  Ian nodded again, and Tony tapped the bars before walking off.

“So what’s going to happen?” Mickey asked later that night, pacing the alley behind the Gallagher house.

“You’re not going to like it,” Lip said, shaking a cigarette out of his pack before handing it to Mickey.

“What is it?” Mickey growled, glaring at Lip.

“The way Ian keeps talking about it, he totally blacked out and doesn’t even remember hitting the guy.”

“Right,” Mickey said, lighting his cigarette and spitting before turning back to Lip.

“And you know our Mom’s bipolar, right?” Lip asked, talking slowly like Mickey was stupid.

“Right, but what does that have to do with Ian?” Mickey asked.

“Since bipolar is hereditary, and Ian’s been acting real out of sorts lately, Lloyd’s lawyer thinks they might be able to get him off on a psych sentence. You know, undiagnosed mental illness?”

“What the fuck is this, Silver Linings Playbook?” Mickey growled, and Lip cocked a brow at him in confusion. “Fuck off, your god damn brother made me watch it. But still.”

“It’ll keep him out of juvie,” Lip said, letting his arms rest on his thighs. “You and I both know that he wouldn’t last a fucking day in juvie. And Lloyd’s lawyer said his sentence would probably be shorter with the psych sentence.”

“Do you actually think he’s crazy?” Mickey said, glancing up at Lip from the alley.

“I don’t know,” Lip said. “I don’t want to. But the only thing I’m worried about is keeping him out of juvie. He’d either end up as someone’s bitch, or he’d get killed. Neither are things I really want happening to my little brother.”

“What if I just get arrested again?” Mickey said, stopping his pacing to point at Lip. “If I get arrested again, I can be there to keep an eye on him. I’ve got some pull in there; I can convince everyone he’s my bitch. No one would fuck with him if they think he’s mine.”

“Trust me, I thought of that. But Lloyd’s lawyer said there was no way to guarantee you’d get sent back to juvie. You’re too old and you’d probably do real time. So getting you arrested again would just leave Ian alone in juvie and you in prison for an unknown amount of time. This is the best bet.”

“I don’t like it,” Mickey growled, pacing again as he pulled at his hair.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t. But we don’t have much choice. He almost killed the guy. He’s still in intensive care cause Ian pretty much shattered his face. There’s no way Roger’s just going to let the charges drop.”

“The fucker was bating him. Calling him some kind of slut. And how are you on first name basis with the guy?”

“He was two years ahead of me in school. After his mom remarried some rich guy they moved to the north side. But Ian was sleeping with him when he was a freshman.”

“Jesus.” Mickey sighed, letting his head fall back. “When does this all go down?”

“Fiona and the lawyer are going to talk to Ian tomorrow. He’s still in the holding cell down at county. As long as he agrees, they’ll meet with the judge and the prosecutor tomorrow afternoon, and Ian should be moved to the psych ward by Thursday.”

“But only if Ian agrees?” Mickey asked, throwing himself down on the bottom step and fishing a joint out of his pocket.

“Fiona’s his guardian.  She can agree to it even if Ian doesn’t. This is happening.”

“When would be able to see him?” Mickey asked quietly and Lip paused, surprised to see the gentle side of Mickey that Ian had always said existed.

“I honestly don’t know. We’ll have to wait until they give us the go ahead.” Mickey sighed, nodding before handing Lip the joint. Lip took a hit off of it before passing it back. They sat in silence for a while before Lip cleared his throat. “You still staying with your aunt?” Mickey flinched, but shrugged.

“She’s only going to let me stay for another week. I don’t know where to get next, though. No way I’m going back Terry’s place.” Lip stared at him for a moment.

“Fiona will take you in,” he said after a moment. “You’ll have to come clean about sleeping with Ian and everything. And what happened with your dad but she’ll probably give you Ian’s bed for now. You’ll have to chip in the squirrel fund and help out around the house, but it’s better than getting killed in your sleep by your dad.”

“You’d do that?” Mickey asked, his eyes wide. Lip shrugged, raising to his feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

Fiona was at her wits end, but she stared at Mickey and Lip as they explained the situation to her. She studied Mickey for a long time before sighing, running a hand through her hair.

“You chip into the squirrel fund. Everyone with a job needs to put at least a thousand in there by the end of summer. Everyone helps around the house; that includes cooking, clean up, Liam. No drug deals. We don’t keep that shit in the house where Frank can get it. Those rules work for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that works for me,” Mickey said, leaning against the counter.

“You can take Ian’s bed,” Fiona said. “I’m going to bed,” she called, scooping down to pick up Liam. “I’m meeting with Ian and lawyer early tomorrow morning. Someone’s going to have to take care of Liam while I’m gone.” With that she climbed the stairs, not looking back at any of them.

Lip and Mickey stood in the kitchen for a while longer. Finally Lip sighed.

“Take my bed,” he said as they climbed the stairs. “I’ll go back in with Liam and Carl. My room has a door and I’m pretty sure my sheets have been washed since the last time I slept with your sister.” Mickey glared at him, flipping him off when they got to the landing.

“Hey Lip,” Mickey called as Lip went to enter the boy’s room. “Things will be okay.” Lip sighed, nodding at him as he shut the door.

“Hey, Monkey,” Fiona whispered, giving Ian a hug as they entered the interview room. Ian clung to her, and she could hear him trying to smother sobs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his nails digging into her skin. After a long moment, the lawyer cleared his throat and the two siblings separated. Ian fell into his chair, staring at the lawyer with side eyes.

“I’m Chance McBride, Mr. Gallagher. I’m going to be in charge of your case. Your sister and I have been discussing your options and we’ve come to a decision.”

“I’m going to juvie, aren’t I?” Ian whispered, looking down at the table.

“Not likely,” Chance said, opening his binder.

“They aren’t sending me to real prison, are they?” Ian gasped, his head darting up to look at Fiona with a horrified look on his face.

“No, sweetheart,” she whispered, taking his hand.

“Then what?” Ian asked, staring at them both in confusion.

“Because you blacked out during the attack, we’re going to attempt to go for a psych sentence,” Chance said, and Ian flinched, betrayal written all over his face. “We have your testimony, along with testimonies from your brother, Fiona here, and a Mickey Milkovich about the symptoms you’ve been displaying lately that can easily get you a psych sentence rather than a longer juvie sentence.”

“What kind of symptoms?” Ian said, his voice cracking as he stared at Fiona. Fat tear drops ran down his face.

“Ian, you’ve been acting like Monica lately, honey. And you’ve been worrying us. Lip was trying to keep it from me but I noticed. Mickey was following you that day to try to talk you down. But you’d already went inside by the time he got there. We’re worried about you.”

“I’m not crazy,” Ian whispered, his eyes wide as he stared at his sister. “I’m not bipolar.”

“Ian, this is for your own good. And I knew you wouldn’t go for it, but since I’m your guardian, I’ve already signed the papers.” Ian stared at her in horror. “We’re going to meet with the prosecutor and  then the judge. As long as everything goes through tonight, you’ll be moved in the morning.”

“No,” Ian whispered, wrapping his arms around his torso and rocking back and forth. “I can’t get into West Point with a psych diagnosis,” he said, glaring at his sister. “You can’t do this.”

“Ian, honey, with an assault and battery sentence you wouldn’t be able to get in either.”

“I’m a juvenile. I would be sealed.”

“You’re close enough to being an adult that you’re sentence would likely overlap. That would still be on your record,” Chance said, looking up from the paper he was writing on.

“Please don’t do this,” Ian said, pleading with Fiona.

“Ian, we’re doing this to keep you safe. You’d never survive juvie. This will be shorter and you’ll be home in no time. Just trust me that we’re doing the best thing for you.”

Ian let out a sob, putting his head in his arms as he cried. 

“We’ll get this processed as soon as possible, Mr. Gallagher,” Chance said, standing and gathering his paper work.

“It’ll be okay, Monkey,” Fiona whispered. “I know you’re mad at me right now, but this is for the best. You’ll see. I love you.”

“I love you,” Ian mumbled, standing slowly when the guard came back in the room.

The next morning, Ian stood in his cell, biting his lip when Tony entered the room with his handcuffs out.

“I pulled some strings so I could be in charge of your transport,” Tony said quietly, slapping the cuffs on one of Ian’s wrist and pulling his arm behind him to cuff it to his other arm. “They got your paper work processed really fast last night, so you’re placement at the psych ward is all set up. It won’t be a long drive so you shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.” Ian nodded, letting Tony lead him out of the cell and back down the hallway.

He kept his head down, ignoring the yells from the other people in the cells. Tony paused at a desk on his way out, signing off on the date and time that he had transported Ian to another facility. He scanned his security badge, the door buzzing as it swung open to let them out of the station. Tony lead Ian to his car, opening the back door and gently pushing Ian’s head down so he didn’t hit it getting in the car. He shut the door, crossing around the back of the car to the driver seat. He spoke quietly into the radio before putting the car in gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

“Pine Tower’s isn’t so bad,” he said, glancing at Ian in the rearview mood. “The staffs pretty friendly. It’s better than prison.”

“I guess,” Ian mumbled, looking out the window. He twisted uncomfortably, his arms in the way for sitting back against the seat.

“Fiona’s doing her best to keep you safe, kid. Don’t be too hard on her.” They kept silent, the drive lasting about fifteen minutes. Ian stared out the window at the towers as they pulled up to the gate, the guard letting it slide open for the car.

“They didn’t tell me how long I have to stay,” Ian mumbled as Tony drove up the lane.

“Minimum of nine months. Then as long as your doctor’s sign off on it, Fiona can take you into custody. But if she signs you out, you’ve got to take the meds they give you, go to therapy, and have regular meetings with a social worker.”

“Okay,” Ian whispered, his head against the glass. Tony sighed as he pulled into the front parking spot, shifting his car into park. He mumbled into his radio again, letting them know he’d arrived. He glanced up at Ian in the rearview mirror again.

“You’ll be okay, Ian. Trust me,” Tony said and Ian nodded. Tony climbed out of the car and opened the back door. He helped Ian out, keeping a hand on his elbow as he led him inside. They were stopped by a security door where Tony signed Ian in. A nurse came out with a small smile on her face.

“I’m Tessa,” she said, smiling at Ian as Tony unlocked the cuffs on his wrists. Ian rubbed at the marks the cuffs had left, nodding at Tessa. “We’re going to take great care of you.”

“Okay,” Ian whispered, looking down.

“Good luck, Ian,” Tony said, clapping him on the shoulder as Tessa led him past the security door.

Later that day found Ian sitting in the common room on the eighth floor of the north tower. He was wearing a pair of scrub pants and a white t-shirt, a light blue robe tied loosely over top. They’d given him a pair of slippers to wear, and his feet were almost too big to fit in them. He stared straight ahead, playing idly at the ID bracelet they’d wrapped around his wrist. After a moment he shifted back in his chair, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“Hi, sweetheart,” a voice said, and Ian looked up to see Tessa smiling at him. She sat next to him, a pen and clipboard in her hand. “Okay, we’ve got you set up in room 125. It’s a single so you won’t have a roommate. We’ve given word through your lawyer that your guardian,” she flipped through the papers on the clipboard, running her finger down a page. “Fiona, can bring you a few changes of approved clothing and personal items. Visitation isn’t allowed  for the first month, but we’ll send word once it is. Until we have a set diagnosis, you won’t have any medication. We do an initial 72 hour observation sans medications to get a get sense of what’s going on in that head of yours, but if you need anything to help you sleep  I can give you that tonight. Do you have any questions for me?”

“When…When visitation is allowed…Is it only family?”

“You can work with your lawyer to get a few approved people who aren’t family. Is there anyone special?” Tessa gave him a small smile as she scribbled something on her clipboard.

“My…My boyfriend,” Ian said quietly, letting his forehead rest on his knees. “If he’ll actually admit he’s my boyfriend. Or if he even wants to still be with me. Whatever.”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, sweetie. You just focus on you.” Ian sighed, nodding his head as she walked away. The longest nine months ever started now.


	3. Chapter 3

“This will be your room, Ian,” Tessa explained as she pulled open the door of room 125 later the first night. It was small, the walls painted a stark white. A twin bed with a metal frame was pressed into one corner and a small dresser was in the other. There was a locked gate over the window, but Ian was pretty sure it would let in good light during the day time. He crossed his arms over his chest and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’ll have your first meeting with Dr. Jones tomorrow after breakfast, and then a group session in the afternoon. Your sister should be bringing your personal belongings tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like me to call and have them bring?”

“My pillow?” he asked, glancing up at Tessa and then back at his feet.

“Sure. I’ll let them know. Do you think you’ll need anything to help you sleep?” she asked as she paused by the door.

“I don’t think so,” Ian said, sitting a little further back on the bed.

“Okay. If you change your mind,” Tessa said, crossing the room, “just hit this button and someone from the nurse’s station will be in to check on you. Have a good night.”

With that, Tessa crossed back across the room, pulling the heavy door shut. Ian could hear the jingle of her keys and he flinched when the loud lock turned. He sat for a moment, listening to her heels click on the linoleum floor.

 Ian sighed, pushing himself off the bed. He leaned against the window, staring out into the night. There wasn’t much of a view; the side of the North building he was in only stared out into the South building. He could see the night security walking around through the court yard and Ian envied the man who was allowed outside. He rapped his fingers in the tiny holes in the gate over the window, focusing on the sting of the metal into his skin. He let out a low groan, pushing away from the window.

This was so stupid, he thought at he paced back in forth in front of his bed. The room was small, and with his long legs there wasn’t far to go. He thought back on all the shit that had gone wrong since he met Mickey Milkovich and he was pretty sure that this was the worst. If he’d just listened all those times Mickey had tried to end things between them, maybe he wouldn’t be spending nine months in a psych ward because everyone thought he’d snapped.

And he wasn’t crazy. Ian was sure he wasn’t crazy. And he’d know if he was, wouldn’t he?

He let out a groan as he threw himself on the lumpy bed, letting the too small slippers slide off his feet as he laid there. He moaned, trying to pull the robe off his shoulders without have to stand up. Ian pushed the blankets down to the foot of the bed, pushing the thin pillow into what he hoped was a more comfortable position. He let out a huff as he fell flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He laid there for a few minutes before huffing and rolling on his side. Then his stomach. Then his other side. He tossed and he turned what felt like hours before he sighed, pulling the pillow over his face and quietly screaming into it.

Ian leaned over, hitting the button Tessa had showed him and waited. After felt like forever he heard the sound of shoes on the linoleum. The thick lock on his door was unlocked and the door swung open to show a short brunette man.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Ian and Ian sighed, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his torso.

“Tessa said if I needed something to help me sleep to press the button,” he said, raising his chin in defiance. The man raised a brow at him before nodding.

“Hold on,” he said, backing out of the room and locking the door again. Ian bit his lip, running the edge of his blanket through his fingers. A short while later the man returned, holding a small white cup and a plastic cup of water. “Ativan,” he said, answering Ian’s questioning look as he passed over the cup. “It’ll help you relax. That is unless you’re one of those kids who’ve been taking prescription drugs on the corner since you were 13.”

Ian shook his head, reaching out and taking the small cup from the man. A small white circle tablet stared up at him and he bit his lip before throwing his head back and tipping it into his mouth. He took the cup of water and took a couple gulps before handing it back.

“It’ll kick in soon. You okay now?” The guy asked and Ian nodded. “Okay. Good night,” he said, backing out of the room.

“Wait!” Ian called and the guy stuck his head back in the door, a brow raised. “What’s your name?”

“Jake,” the guy said.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Jake,” Ian said, letting his head fall back into his pillow as he pulled the blanket up to his shoulder. Jake snorted, giving him a small grin.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said as he pushed the door shut, locking it behind him.

* * *

 

“I took him a couple changes of clothes and his pillow today,” Fiona said, stopping to adjust the shopping bag she had pressed against her hip.

“Did they say how he was?” Mickey asked, glancing over his shoulder to make sure anyone outside the Gallagher’s didn’t hear him being concerned.

“He’s been there less than 24 hours, Mickey, there’s not really anything to report,” Fiona said, giving him a sad smile as she gently hip checked him.

“I know, I just…I don’t like him being in there. At least not by himself.” Mickey stopped, moving closer to the wall so he could balance his bag and light a cigarette at the same time.

“Not really much we can do about that now, Mick. But he’ll be okay. Ian’s a trooper.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mickey mumbled, hesitating when he realized they were coming up on the Alibi.

“We can cross over,” Fiona suggested, seeing the worry on Mickey’s face. Mickey shook his head, continuing walking.

“He’s probably not even there,” he mumbled. He stopped in his tracks however when he looked up to see his dad leaving, shaking a cigarette out of his pack. Terry froze, his eyes going wide when he saw Mickey.

Terry lunged at Mickey, his fist landing solidly against Mickey’s left cheek. Mickey staggered, letting the grocery bag he’d been carrying drop to his feet. He tried to fight back, grunting as he blocked one of Terry’s swings. Terry slammed him against the brick wall, knocking the wind out of Mickey. The entire time, all he could think of was he was never going to see Gallagher again and if the boy wasn’t crazy already he would be then. But as Terry tightened his grip around Mickey’s throat, a loud twang filled the air and Terry collapsed to the ground in front of him. Mickey gasped for breath staring with wide eyes at Fiona who was holding a tire iron.

“You don’t come near him again, you hear me you piece of shit?” Fiona growled, poking at a barely conscious Terry. “He’s not your son no more, you don’t get to touch him. Something happens to him and I promise you Terry you won’t live to enjoy it.” With that, Fiona dropped the tire iron, stopped to pick up the bags she and Mickey had dropped and turned to Mickey. “You okay to walk?”

“I, uh, yeah,” Mickey said, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. “Where the fuck you find a tire iron?” He asked, rubbing at his neck as he followed her.

“Leaning up against the wall over there,” she said with a shrug, giving Mickey a small smile. “Couldn’t let him kill you, could I?”

“Thanks,” Mickey mumbled, rubbing at his lip before taking a bag back from Fiona.

“Just hope you didn’t break the eggs when you dropped our bag,” she said, turning onto their road. Mickey snorted, following her up the sidewalk.

* * *

 

“What’s for dinner?” Lip asked as he came in the back door of the house, dropping his bag at the foot of the stairs.

“Brinner,” Fiona said, holding up the pancake mix she was stirring.

“Awesome,” he said, turning to crack his back. He paused when he saw Mickey sitting at the coffee table with Carl, flipping through the younger boy’s math book like he was looking for something. “What’s he doing?”

“Helping Carl with his homework. He’s helped him every night this week. He actually seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Huh,” Lip said, reaching into the fridge and pulling out two beers.

“Beer with pancakes?” Fiona asked, raising a brow as she poured the first of the pancakes onto the griddle.

“I am a Gallagher,” Lip said, grinning at her as he left the room.

“You’ve got the carry that four,” Mickey said, chewing on his lip as he looked over Carl’s shoulder. “Not that four, the other one. Right. That’s the last one. I’ll check over all of them later, okay?”

“Thanks, Mickey,” Carl said, slamming his book shut and running into the kitchen to set the table.

“Ian never said you were smart,” Lip said, handing Mickey a beer.

“That’s cause Ian didn’t know,” Mickey said, taking a gulp of his beer. “Just like he doesn’t know that the last time I got out of juvie was actually ‘cause of good behavior, not overcrowding.”

“That so?” Lip said with a grin, and Mickey shrugged, shaking a cigarette out of his pack.

“Once I got there, I realized that if Frank told I’d just left Ian by himself to get shot by my dad. I’d kept myself safe, but how the fuck was that going to help Ian? So I did my best to stay out of trouble and got in in 6 months rather than a year.”

“Shit, Mick, you really do care,” Lip said, grinning at him.

“Yeah, well, signing off on the testimony didn’t make me feel like I cared,” he mumbled, letting his head fall back onto the back of the couch.

“What happened to your face?” Lip asked suddenly and Mickey flinched when he reached out to touch it. Fiona had made him sit on the couch with a bag of frozen peas pressed to it until Carl and had gotten home from school. Mickey sighed, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“Terry. Saw him today and he apparently decided he wants to kill me after all. Your sister hit him with a tire iron to get him off.”

“Shit,” Lip said, letting out a small whistle. “You’re dad’s a dick.”

“Trust me, I know.”

* * *

 

“So your mother is bipolar?” Dr. Jones asked, and Ian shifted in his seat, not quite sure what to do with his hands.

“And an addict and an alcoholic,” Ian said.

“How do you think that affected her parenting?” Ian snorted, running a hand through his hair.

“She didn’t parent,” Ian said. “The first time she took off I was six. Debbie was two, Fiona was eleven. She just packed up and took off without a word. She was gone for about six months, but then DFS took us and she had to come back to Frank to get us back. She stuck around for another year because they were keeping an eye on us, but then she took off again. She came back about a year and half later ‘cause she was pregnant with Liam. But she left again when he was two months old. Fiona had to drop out and take care of us. Every so often Monica will come back but she just takes money or something from us and takes off again.”

Ian kicked his slippers off, pulling his legs up to his chest. He didn’t make eye contact with the doctor, not wanting to see what he was thinking.

“How does that make you feel about her?” Dr. Jones asked, and it took everything Ian had not to snort at how stereotypical that question was. “Does it make you sad when she leaves? Do you want her to come?”

“I don’t know…” Ian mumbled, pulling at the fabric stretched over his knees. “I don’t really miss her anymore. I used to get my hopes up when I was younger that she’d stay. But lately she just makes things worse. When she came back two years ago she tried to take my youngest brother with her. She gave up when Fiona fought to keep him. Then last year she came back after my grandma died. And she was off her meds so she was all over the place. We…we um keep a squirrel fund…” Ian trailed off, chewing on his cheek.

“A squirrel fund?” Dr. Jones asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah, um, since Monica’s gone and Frank doesn’t work and lives off disability, we save as much money as possible when we’re all working during the summer to get us through the winter. I work at a convenience store, Lip on an ice cream truck, Debs and Carl run a daycare and Fiona does whatever she can. We save what we can for food and gas bills during the winter.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Dr. Jones said with a nod, giving Ian a small smile. “But what does this have to do with your  mother?”

“Since Monica wasn’t on her meds she’d go through these little phases. Baking dozens of batches of cookies, deep cleaning the carpet but she’d only move the furniture around then give up. At one point she’d been on a baking spree and found the Crisco can we keep the squirrel fund on and went hog while. She took my little sister shopping since she’d missed her birthday and bought her hundreds of dollars’ worth of American Dream dolls. She took dad out and spent the rest of it on some crappy car and enough pills to last them for a couple days. She let my brother Carl drive the car and he drove into a water hydrant. He could have been seriously hurt but Monica didn’t see the problem with that.

“Eventually Frank convinced her to go back on her meds, but I guess they hadn’t kicked in yet or the fact she was taking them with beer but she got in a really low funk right around Thanksgiving. And she tried to kill herself in the kitchen in the middle of dinner. She agreed to do a hospital stay, but escaped and took off again. As always she fucks everything up and takes off.”

Ian stood, pacing back and forth in front of the doctors desk. The man watched him with wise eyes, waiting for a moment that seemed right to continue the conversation.

“And what about your father? What do you think about him, Ian?” Ian snorted, shaking his head.

“Frank’s not my real father. My mom’s a whore who slept with Frank’s brother and then I showed up. But Frank’s the only father I’ve known and I hate him. Sometimes I just wish he’d die; alcohol poisoning, overdose, running his mouth I wouldn’t care. I just want him out of my life.”

“You don’t have any emotional attachment to him?” Dr. Jones asked, writing something in his notes. “Like you said, he is the only father you know.”

“No,” Ian said with a shrug, the agitation filling him making his shoulders feel stiff. “He’s never done anything for me. He’s made my life worse, in fact. He’s stolen from me, hurt my family, chased the only man who maybe could have loved me away. And he doesn’t see what he does wrong. As long as he can get drunk or high, that’s all he cares about.”

“This man,” Dr. Jones said, scribbling something else in his notes before looking up at Ian. “The one you say is ‘the only man who could have loved you.’ Let’s talk about him.”

“No,” Ian said, sitting back down and pulling his legs up to his chest again. “I don’t want to talk about Mickey.”

“I won’t push it for now, but you understand at some point you will?”

“Not now,” Ian whispered, putting his head down on his knee and gripping his legs tight.

“I understand. How about we call it quits for the day, Ian. Thank you for being so open with me. I’ll have someone come take you back to your floor.” Ian nodded, slowly climbing to his feet and following the doctor out of the room.

* * *

 

“Hey can I ask you a favor,” Fiona said late that night after almost everyone had gone to bed. Lip raised a brow, sitting down next to her at the counter.

“Sure, what’s up?” He asked, taking one of the crackers off Fiona’s plate.

“Can you kind of keep an eye on Mickey?” She asked, smacking Lip’s and taking her cracker back. “I got him to go with me to the store to help carry groceries back, but we ran into Terry on the way home and Terry tried to beat the shit out of him. Mickey won’t talk about it, but I think he’s a little shaken up by it. I don’t want him to get freaked and do a runner, you know?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll watch out for him. How’d you guys get away from Terry Milkovich?”

“Tire iron,” Fi said with a shrug, standing up and putting her plate in the sink. “Night, Lip,” she whispered, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she went past.

Lip went around, making sure the lights were off downstairs and the door locked. He picked up some of the random dirty clothes that were down stairs to put in the laundry basket, pausing to sigh when he found a pair of Ian’s ROTC fatigues. He shut off the kitchen light, climbing up the stairs. He paused outside of Mickey’s current room, listening. He started to walk away when he heard Mickey whimper.

“No, let him go. Dad, let him go!” Mickey moaned in his sleep, and Lip paused, his hand on the sliding door. “Don’t hurt him! Dad! Don’t hurt him!” Lip through the door open, running into the room and shaking Mickey.

Mickey shot up like a dart, his chest heaving as he stared around. Lip held up his hands like he was trying to calm a frightened animal and waited for Mickey to realize where he was.

“Jesus, Gallagher,” Mickey huffed, laying back against the pillow. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You were having a nightmare,” Lip said leaning back against the wall. “You kept screaming for your dad to “let him go” and “don’t hurt him.” Who’s him?”

Mickey ran a tired hand over his face, sighing heavily. He glanced up at Lip and then back down at the bed. “Ian.” He said quietly, and Lip straightened, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’ve been having them ever since he caught us. That’s why I was staying away from Ian ‘cause I thought that meant dad would leave him alone. But all I can think of was that dad would kill him if he got his hands on him again.”

“No, I get it,” Lip whispered. “You don’t have to explain. You kept him safe.” Mickey nodded, pulling on his blanket. “You’re better for him than I ever thought you’d be Mickey. You have any more nightmares, don’t be afraid to wake me up.” Lip gave him a small smile, walking out of the room. 


	4. Chapter 4

It doesn’t take Ian long to decide he hates group therapy. He hates the guy who sobs through his talks, his words not making any sense. He especially hates the bulimic girl. Ian had grown up in a house where there was never enough food, and he couldn’t understand why the hell you would waste it by throwing it all up. And he hated how the girl who was in charge just stared at him, expecting him to participate. He didn’t, of course. He sat with his arms crossed, trying to keep the mix of disgust and despair off his face.

“I’m Annie,” a girl said from beside him and Ian jumped. She hadn’t been there a minute before.

“Ian,” he said, chewing on his lip.

“What’s your diagnosis?” She asked, and Ian leaned away from her, thinking that was a terribly private thing to ask.

“Haven’t got one yet,” he mumbled though, not meeting her eye.

“Oh that’s when it’s the best. You can do whatever you want just to keep them on their toes!” She crossed her legs, looking at her nails before she continued. “They say I’m a pathological liar.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked, wishing he could just go back to his bed.

“Yup, I apparently ruined quite a few lives before they sent me here. You know, my gym teacher used to touch me in the locker room. I saw my nanny stealing from my family. My dad was fucking the neighbor. Shit like that. I got our family quite a bit of money when I told the Mrs. Anderson at the high school that I had cancer. She even got a parade for me. Mom gave the money back, though.”

“Oh,” Ian said, looking away.

“That’s Johnny,” she said, pointing at a guy about his age who sat in a wheelchair in the corner. Half his body was covered in burns and he stared off into space, his torso rocking back in forth slightly every so often. “He’s schizophrenic.”

“How’d he get so burnt?” Ian asked quietly, cocking his head to the side.

“He was diagnosed young and was a real good kid. Always took his drugs and did what the nice head shrink said. But then when he got in high school he met a girl. And you obviously don’t want to pretty girl you meet to think you’re crazy, so he stopped taking his meds. Apparently the voices told him he should set his house on fire while his parents were asleep one night. Of course, dumbass didn’t think that maybe he should on the outside when he caught the house on fire. He doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does he rambles on about the voices made him do it.”

“Shit,” Ian said, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. Funnily enough, the girl still comes in visits him.” Ian couldn’t tell if Annie was lying or not. “So what’s your story. Why you here, Ginger?”

“Don’t call me that,” Ian mumbled under his breath. “I blacked out and almost beat a guy to death,” he said quietly, rubbing his palms over his thighs.

“Ah, a tough guy,” Annie said, letting out a trickle of laughter that reminded him of a bell. “So this is court mandated, then? Not just mommy and daddy are worried about where you’re going with your life?”

“Mommy and Daddy aren’t really around,” Ian said, noticing that they’d been released from group. He pushed himself out of his chair, trying to avoid Annie. She just continued to follow him.

“Oh? Well where are they?” she asked, as if that was the most simple question to answer.

“Mom’s a bi-polar bitch who started taking off when I was six. Dad’s an alcoholic. My sister’s been raising us for as long as I can remember.”

“Shit,” Annie said, her face full of pity. “That sucks.” That was enough for Ian to get pissed. He turned, pushing Annie away from him and against the wall.

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” he growled, aware that there feet running at him.

“Gallagher, let her go,” an orderly said and Ian sighed, pushing off the wall and away from her. He follower the orderly to his room for some down time to ‘cool down.’ Whatever.

* * *

 

“So what’s your plan, Mickey?” Fiona asked, sitting next to him on his bead, cracking the window open to the smoke wouldn’t clog the room. Mickey lit up his cigarette, cocking a brow at her.

“Plan for what?” He asked, blowing smoke out of his nose. Fiona lit up her own cigarette, taking a quick his before giving him a small smile.

“I mean, what are you going to do with your life? You planning on working at the Kash and Grab the rest of your life? Maybe take some classes down at Malcolm X? Or am I gonna wake up one morning before Ian gets out and you’re going to be gone? Or you gonna wait ‘til he gets back and gets attached again and then split?” Her words were harsh, but Mickey could see the concern on her face. He wasn’t sure who she was more concerned about, him or Ian, but it was nice to have someone to at least be concerned about what he was going to do.

“I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I never finished school. Fuck, I barely finished freshman year, so it’s not like I could go to fucking community college or anything.”

“You could get your GED,” Fiona suggested and Mickey snorted, rolling his eyes. “No, I’m serious. I got it. And you’re obviously a lot smarter than I was. Don’t play stupid, there’s no way Carl would be passing math this month without you.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just couldn’t pay attention in class and shit, you know? Couldn’t sit still.”

“It was a lot easier with the GED class. And if you can pass the practice test, you might not even really need the classes much. Lip will help. I can do what I can.”

“I don’t know…I mean I know it’s a good idea but I just don’t want to get my or anyone else’s hopes up and then let them down when I prove I really am stupid.”

“Regardless if you pass or not, you’ll never know unless you try. I can go with you to talk to the school tomorrow? That lady in the office is kind of a bitch, but the guidance counselor kind of has a soft spot in a non-creepy way for Lip. He might be able to talk with you.” Mickey shrugged but nodded his head, taking a deep hit on his cigarette. “Your GED will take you a lot farther than you think. Especially past the Kash and Crab.”

The two of them sat in Mickey’s room for a while, neither of them saying anything but taking deep hits of their cigarettes, nicotine thrumming through their veins. Finally Fiona cleared her throat before breaking the silence again.

“About your dad,”  she started, but paused when Mickey froze next to her. “Is there anything we can do to keep him off your case?”

“Besides killing him?” Mickey deadpanned, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. “I don’t know, break his parole? I’m not really sure how to do that without him killing me first, so good luck with that.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Fiona murmured, patting Mickey’s knee.

“What about Firec- I mean Ian. When can we see Ian?” Mickey asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes.

“About three more weeks,” Fiona said, stubbing out her cigarette in the ash try on the window sill. “They say there has to be a month of observation with no outside distractions.”

“Which is bullshit,” Mickey mumbled. Fiona gave him a small smile, rolling her eyes.

“He’ll be fine, Mickey. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but trust me, this is for the best. After everything we’ve been through with Monica, it’s better to get this shit handled earlier rather than later.”

“You say so,” Mickey mumbled and Fiona grinned, knocking their knees together.

* * *

 

Dr. Jones explains that he is diagnosing Ian with Bipolar Disorder at the end of his first week there. He explains how Ian fits the criteria for Bipolar II and how they’re going to start him on a mood stabilizer and an antipsychotic to keep the blackout sessions to a minimum. Ian doesn’t comment on any of it though because he’s so annoyed that once again Frank is going to have something to compare him to Monica with.

“We start with one medication at low doses at a time. That’s mostly to make sure there are no poor reactions. Since your chart states you have no drug allergies that you know of, we always want to be careful. You’ll have your first dose tonight since it might make you a little tired.”

“Fine,” Ian says, clenching his jaw and not looking at Dr. Jones.

“I know this is hard to take, Ian,” Dr. Jones said, closing his tablet as he moved to the edge of his chair. “But I promise we’re doing this to help you. This will eventually make you feel a lot better.”

“I know,” Ian says, rising to his feet. “Can I go back to my room now?” Dr. Jones sighed before nodding.

Ian stared with disgust at the two little white and pink capsules staring up at him from the plastic cup that night.

“Lithium,” Jake said as if Ian wasn’t already aware of that. And he realized that no one had ever said what they were starting him on, he just recognized them from the large bottle that used to be in their medicine cabinet with Monica’s name on it. He sighed, tipping his head back and feeling the capsules on his tongue. He drained the small cup of water, opening his mouth to show Jake that they were gone. The orderly nodded, moving onto the next patient.

They start him on Risperidone, an antipsychotic, the next week once Dr. Jones decided he wasn’t allergic to Lithium. He makes his irritation about being on so many drugs known quickly, but he takes it anyway, slamming the cup down as he walks away.

As the week went on, Ian started to get a fever. He complained about how agitated he felt, but the nurses all assured him that it was just his body adjusting to the medication and that once his body got used to it he’d feel better.

“It’s not a miracle drug, sweetheart,” Nancy the morning nurse, patting his head like he was a puppy one morning. “It takes a little while to take affect but I promise you’ll feel better then.” Ian sighed, nodding his head and curling back up in the corner of the couch, feeling like he was freezing while his head was burning.

When Tessa came on shift after lunch, Ian’s still sitting in the same spot, his fever higher and his muscles stiff. He tightened the grip he had around his legs, trying to pull them closer to his chest so no one could see the way he’s shaking. His head was killing him, and everything time he tried to swallow it felt like it was absolutely impossible. Tessa squinted at him from the nurse’s station before crossing the common room.

“Ian?” she asked quietly, perching on the edge of the couch next to him. She reached out and pressed the back of the hand to his forehead, immediately flinching away at the heat. “Ian, honey, are feeling okay?”

“N-N-Nancy said it was n-n-normal,” he stuttered, laying his aching head on his knees. “She said it was just my b-b-body getting u-u-used to the new m-m-meds.”

“Oh, honey, I think you’re allergic to the Risperidone. This isn’t normal. Come on, let’s get you to the infirmary before it gets worse.” Tessa gently pulled Ian to his feet, pausing to give him a second when his body swayed. They moved slowly, Ian trying to stifle the whimper at how much his joints ached. They were almost to the door of the ward when Ian slid to the ground, his body shaking in convulsions he couldn’t stop. Tessa started yelling for help as she rolled him on his side, holding his arms down to keep him from hurting himself. He lost consciousness as two orderly’s came running around the corner, a gurney between them.

* * *

 

“Carl stop playing with your food,” Fiona said, placing the bowl of garlic bread down on the table as she slid into her chair. Mickey met her eye, slurping a long piece of spaghetti into his mouth with a small grin on his face. Fiona rolled her eyes, throwing her napkin at him.

“Fiona, can you help me make my poster for my president presentation tomorrow?” Debbie asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “Ian normally helps with posters, but…” She trailed off and everyone jumped at once.

“I can help,” Fiona and Lip said at the same time, and Carl just kind of looked at them in confusion.

“Who’s it on?” Mickey asked, whipping sauce off his hand.

“JFK,” Debbie said. “I focused it on his assassination.”

“Morbid,” Lip said, a small grin on his face. “Mickey and I’ll help after dinner.”

“Thanks,” Debbie said with a small smile, but Mickey could still tell she was sad. He’d never really taken time to talk to the youngest Gallagher girl, but he knew Ian had always had a soft spot for her. He figured he’d probably better give her a chance.

The family continued to eat, every once in a while commenting on something that had happened that day. At some point, Fiona’s phone rang and she pulled it out of her back pocket, checking the caller ID.

“Shit, it’s Pine Towers,” she mumbled, pushing her chair back and heading into the living room to answer the call as the back door opened. Frank stumbled in, rubbing at his eyes. He stopped at the table, taking in the group.

“Why the fuck is the Milkovich kid at our table?” He mumbled, stumbling over the fridge. “And where’s the ungrateful red head who’s not my son?” Mickey clinched his fist, waiting for the right time to launch over the table and end Frank Gallagher like he should have a year ago. Lip reached out, putting a hand on Mickey’s arm. Under the table, Debbie placed a hand on Mickey’s knee.

“Ian,” Lip said, stressing Ian’s name, “is serving a psych sentence at Pine Towers. Turns out you’re shitty parenting really has had an effect on us.”

“Huh. Fucker is like his mom in every way isn’t he?” Frank said, taking a chug of his beer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mickey said, an edge to his voice.

“Gay. Crazy. Questionable choice in lovers. Just got to get the alcoholic and drug addict in and he’s got the whole package.” Mickey went to push the table away but Lip grabbed his arm again. Jimmy, who rarely said anything to Mickey held up a hand before pushing his chair back and walking up to Frank.

“You know you’re not allowed in here, Frank. You might as well stop running your mouth and get out of here before Fiona gets off the phone. I’d love to see what she’d do to you this time.”

“I’m not- I’m not afraid,” Frank started, but Fiona’s footsteps started to get closer and Frank sighed, turning back. “Fine. But this is my house. Bullshit.” He stumbled right back out the way he came.

“Right, thanks for letting us know. Keep us posted on what happens if you can, please,” Fiona said, one hand fisted in her hair as she hung up the phone. Jimmy crossed the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her from behind as he kissed her neck.

“Everything okay?” He asked, and Fiona sighed, squirming out of his hold as she went back to the table.

“Carl, if you’re done eating you can take Liam upstairs. Deb’s, got get the stuff together for your project. Mickey and Lip will be up in a little bit.” The kids nodded, getting up from the table without question.

“Fiona?” Mickey said quietly, taking in her face. She held up a finger, watching as Carl, Liam and Debbie climbed the stairs slowly. When they could hear their feet upstairs, she turned back to them.

“Ian had an allergic reaction to one of the psych meds they started him on. He ended up having a seizure from it. They’ve got him in the hospital wing and he’s stable, but they had to let us know. The nurse I talked to said they’ll keep him in the hospital wing to monitor him until the drug is completely out of his system, and then they’ll monitor him more closely as they continue trying to find something to keep his moods stabilized.”

“Fuck,” Mickey and Lip mumbled at the same time.

“He’ll be okay, though. It’s okay, don’t get too freaked out,” Fiona said, looking at Jimmy for help.

“She’s right. You never know how a person is going to react when they have a reaction, but once they do it’s easy to find how to counter act it. They’ll probably pump him full of fluids to help get it out of his system faster, and then they can try again. The doctors know what they’re doing.” Mickey sighed, pushing away from the table.

“Where are you going?” Fiona asked, her voice alarmed.

“To help Debbie with her project,” he mumbled, slowly walking up the stairs. He paused half way up, letting his head fall against the fall and taking deep breaths. He tried to wipe the panic off his face before pushing open Debbie’s door. No reason for everyone else to freak out, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it. Thanks for all the support. The semester is coming to an end (graduation is less than a month and a half away) and I'm kind of freaking out and trying to find a job. I'll update when I can!


	5. Chapter 5

“I kind of want to do it like a “Who Done It” kind of thing,” Debbie said when Mickey entered her room and sat at the foot of her bed. “See, I have all this stuff printed out about who they think did it and conspiracy theories and stuff. And I’ve got pictures printed, too!” Mickey picked up one from the top of the pile and smirked at a gruesome picture of JFK’s brains flying everywhere.

“Okay, we can work with that,” Mickey said, looking through the pile of things she had. He started sorting things into piles, running thumb over his lip as he thought. “Okay, so you on here have the evidence that supports each theory. So we just need to split the poster up with pictures of that evidence on each section with a description about what’s going on. Maybe put this one,” he held up the before and after picture of just before and right after the shot happened, “in the middle.”

“Yeah! That sounds like a great idea,” Debbie said, spreading things out on her small desk. She shuffled around in the top drawer before pulling out a bunch of stencils. Mickey watched her spell out “JFK; Who Did It?” as he slowly cut out the bits of information she had printed out.

“It’s okay to be upset,” Debbie said after a few moments of silence and Mickey cursed when he nicked himself with the scissors.

“What are you on about?” he mumbled, rubbing his finger on the side of his jeans before continuing on.

“It’s okay to be upset about Ian,” she said, glancing up at him before going back to her markers. “I used to be upset about Monica. Especially when I found out what Bi-Polar was. It’s okay to be upset that he’s gone and that things aren’t the same.”

“I’m not upset,” Mickey mumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“You’re rooms up against mine,” Debbie dead panned, putting the cap back on the blue marker and reaching for the red. “I can hear when you have nightmares…”

“You’ve heard those,” Mickey said, watching Debbie closely.

“Fiona doesn’t know I overheard her talking to Lip about your dad. I’m sorry things were so horrible for you.”

“Don’t apologize for that. Nothing you guys can do about that. And don’t worry about what’s going on with Fir-Ian. Things will be fine, there’s nothing you should be worried about.”

“I’m not worried about Ian,” Debbie said. “He’s not Monica. He’s not going to screw us over and take off. It’s fine.”

“You’re brother’s doing a court mandated psych stay ‘cause he almost killed someone and you’re ‘not worried?’” Mickey asked and Debbie shrugged.

“It’s not his fault that his brain’s faulty. Really it’s probably Monica’s fault. It’ll be fine, Mickey,” Debbie said, giving him a small smile as she started taping pictures to her poster. Mickey bit his lip and nodded, finishing cutting paper and handing it to Debbie when she asked for it.

* * *

 

Ian woke up on his left side in the hospital wing, an IV in his right hand and leads and wires attached to his head and chest. A plastic bowl sat on the bed next to him and he could see flakes of vomit stuck to the side. His mouth tasted like it was fool of pennies and his head was pounding. He moaned, rolling over and trying not to pull on any of the wires attached to him.

“Mr. Gallagher, you’re finally awake,” a voice said, and he opened his eyes to see a short black man in a white coat standing at the foot of his bed.

“What,” he croaked, stopping to swallow thickly a few times. The man handed him a glass of water with a straw in it and Ian took a few gulps before sighing. “What happened?”

“You had a severe allergic reaction to the Risperidone a few days ago which lead to a serious of seizures among other symptoms. We’ve had you sedated here in the hospital wing while we got all of it out of your system.”

“Oh,” Ian said simply, rubbing at his face.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked, pulling his chart off the foot of his bed, flipping it open.

“My head hurts. And my joints, I guess. And my mouth tastes like blood.”

“You bit your tongue at one point,” the man said, scribbling something in Ian’s chart.

“Oh,” Ian said again. “What happens now?”

“Well, we’re going to monitor you for the next couple days just in case there are any further reactions. I also would like you to be in our watch as Dr. Jones continues to adjust your medications. Just in case this happens again. We’ve discussed our options, and we’ve both agreed to move you away from that class of medications. You’ll be stared on Depakote later today or tomorrow. It’s an anti-epileptic medication, but it’s been proven to treat some of the symptoms of bi-polar.”

“Okay…Is this on top of the Lithium?” he asked, letting his eyes fall shut as the doctor continued to talk.

“Yes. The Lithium is a mood stabilizer as I’m sure you know. The Depakote will be used to combat symptoms such as the blackouts you’ve experienced and some of the more down moods. Do you have any more questions?”

“I uh. I don’t know,” Ian said opening his eyes to look up at the doctor. “I...I’m hungry.”

“I’ll have them bring something up for you in a little bit along with a toothbrush to get that taste out of your mouth. I’m also going to run a couple tests just to make sure all of the Risperidone is out of your system. Try to make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for a while longer.”

“Okay,” Ian whispered, looking at his hands. He jerked his head up, cocking his head to the side. “What was your name again?”

“Oh, sorry about that! I’m Dr. Cook. I’ll be looking after you while you’re in the hospital wing. I’ll check in on you later, Mr. Gallagher.”

Ian nodded, letting his eyes fall closed once again.

* * *

 

“Little red is far too insightful for her good,” Mickey said later that night, sitting on the back steps smoking with Lip.

“Yeah, why’s that?” Lip said, smirking around his cigarette.

“Gave me some fucking speech about how everything’s going to be fine and that it’s not Ian’s fault his ‘brain’s faulty.’ Apparently she heard my nightmare the other night and she’s was apologizing about my piece of shit dad. I mean fuck, she’s 11! She shouldn’t know about this shit.”

“She’s 13,” Lip said, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “But, yeah, you’re right she shouldn’t know about this shit. But Gallagher’s grow up quicker than they have to. Especially the girls apparently.” 

The two men stayed silent for a while, listening to the screech of the El a block away. The weather was starting to get colder and the trees had mostly lost all their leaves. Thanksgiving was two weeks away and it would probably snow at anytime. Mickey’s mind backtracked to getting himself locked up almost a year ago and he wondered how their lives ever got this fucked up. He’d always had no problem with the South Side and the lives they lived but now all he wanted to do was get out.

“Can I ask you something?” He said to Lip, stubbing out his cigarette on the underside of the railing.

“What’s up?” Lip asked, taking a last drag of his own cigarette.

“I was talking to Fiona the other day. About, you know, getting my GED.”

“No shit? I think you could do it.”

“I think I want to. I might…I might need some help though. Whole reason I dropped out was mostly cause I couldn’t focus long enough to get shit done. I don’t really know how to do it on my own,” Mickey said, leaning back on his elbows, staring up at the sky.

“Totally dude. I’ve got you. It’ll be a great surprise for Ian when he gets out,” Lip answered, smiling at Mickey.

“Yeah, well, don’t tell him. No use getting anyone’s hopes up until we’re sure it’s gonna happen, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Lip nodded, rubbing at his face tiredly. They were both quiet for a long time before Lip turned back to Mickey. “You miss him?”

Mickey shrugged, not meeting Lip’s eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say?  I’m not going to be some bitch and sprout a bunch of shit about how I miss him and can’t live without him. I’m worried about him, yeah. He’s going through a lot of shit right now and maybe the situation between my dad and us probably kick started this. But if you all say that all he needs is a psych stay and some drugs and he’ll be find, I guess I have to believe you. I mean you’re all the ones with the crazy mom. You’ve got experience, I don’t. Whatever.”

“It’s not going to be any easier once he gets out,” Lip murmured, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. “It’ll be fine when he first gets out; he’ll still have a schedule and will probably take his meds willingly. But the longer he’s out, the harder it’ll be to keep that. You’ll have to be patient with him and can’t be surprised or get upset when he blows things out of proportion. It’ll be a lot of work, and if you’re not willing to do that it might be better if you take off now. I’m not saying you won’t try, so get that look off your face. I’m just saying; this is your first experience with this. And like you said, we Gallagher’s are old hats at this; Monica takes off at least once a year. It’ll be a lot of work.”

Mickey stayed silent, staring at the chain length fence wrapped around the back yard; keeping the bad out and Carl inside. He chewed slightly on his lower lip, not sure what to say. He let out a low grown, rubbing at his eyes. Mickey finally looked up at Lip, his face honest and open.

“He’s stuck around with me. Through more shit than he should have had to. Any normal person would have just fucked off after that first time in juvie. Or after the shit I said to him before punching that cop. If Ian can stick with me, I’ve got to at least try to stick with him.”

“Good,” Lip said, a small smirk on his face as he pushed himself to his feet. “I was hoping you’d say that. Night, dude.”

Mickey grunted, flipping him off as Lip walked back in the house.

* * *

 

Ian wasn’t taken back to his normal room until Thanksgiving Day, a brand new red bracelet added to his wrist stating “DRUG ALLERGY” in bold black letters. He rubbed gently at the bracelet as he wandered into the common room, perching on the edge of the loveseat.

“He returns!” a voice called, and he turned to see Annie skipping across the room to him, a big smile on her face. A tall blonde guy he didn’t recognize followed behind her, an equally big smile on his face. Ian swallowed his groan, sitting back in his seat.

“Hi, Annie,” he mumbled, digging his nails into his palms as she plopped down beside him, throwing an arm over his shoulders. The new boy perched on the arm of the loveseat, watching them closely.

“I was telling everyone you died,” she said, shrugging a shoulder as she grinned at him. “It seemed plausible. One minute you were there and then the next minute they’re carting you off and you don’t come back for two weeks. But apparently you just scrambled your brains some more, which doesn’t sounds as dramatic as you dying and the nurses hiding your body…. Eh,” Annie said, shrugging her shoulders again. “What can you do, huh?”

“Gee, thanks for your concern,” Ian mumbled, rolling his eyes at her and trying not to flinch under her arm.

“I’m Greg,” the new boy said suddenly, and Ian cocked his head to the side as he took in his appearance. He was tall, a couple inches taller than Ian with shaggy dark brown hair. His skin was tan and he had lines of deep scratches up his arms. When Greg noticed Ian staring at the scratches, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ian,” Ian finally said, giving Greg a small nod.

“Ian’s Bi-Polar,” Annie said helpfully, swinging her legs back and forth under the loveseat. Ian glared at her but she just smiled wider, tightening he grip she had on his shoulder. “Greg’s not diagnosed yet, but he’s court ordered, too!”  Greg cleared his throat, tightening his arms over his chest.

“I uh… I was kind of obsessed with my girlfriend. Did the whole threatened to kill myself thing if she left me shit. I started cutting myself when we started fighting more and then when she really did try to leave I…I uh I held her hostage threatening to kill us both. Annnd now I’m here.”

“Right. I uh, sorry bout that,” Ian said, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “Um, excuse me,” he said, pushing away from Annie and crossing the room.

“Hey, Ian, good to see you back on the floor,” Jake said, giving him a smile as looked up from the chart he was typing in.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Ian said, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m still kind of tired. Is it okay if I go back to my room and lay down?” Jake looked at the clock and sighed, climbing to his feet.

“There’s going to be a Thanksgiving dinner at one and then some Pilgrim related arts and crafts.” Ian rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to be at those, but you can go lay down for now. You’ll have about an hour before we’ll need you back out here. Come on, I’ll open your room for you.”

“Thanks,” Ian whispered, following close behind. He crawled into his bed, curling up with his back to door. He’d give just about anything to spend the rest of his stay in the hospital wing where he didn’t have to talk to anyone. Instead, he clinched his eyes shut as tight as he could and pretended that the clanging in the hallway was Carl tearing something apart.

* * *

 

“You decent?” Fiona called, knocking on the frame to Mickey’s door. Mickey grunted a yeah and she slid the door open, leaning against the wall.

“What’s up?” he asked, sitting up and stashing the flyer for the GED he was reading under the bed.

“I just got off the phone with Pine Towers,” she said, keeping her voice airy and light.

“Shit, he didn’t have another reaction did he?” Mickey asked, his eyes wide. Fiona gave him a small smile, shaking her head.

“No, not this time. It was just his doctor saying we were allowed to visit. He said we can come any time this week, but he wants to keep it every other week so Ian doesn’t get overwhelmed. I talked to him about you and he said you’re on the list. He’ll allow two visits this week so you can talk to Ian, but after this we’ll probably have to go as a group.”

“I…What?” Mickey whispered, his eyes still wide.

“Take the first visit,” Fiona said, her eyes sad even though she was smiling. “I think you need it.”

“Thanks…” Mickey trailed off, watching as Fiona left the room.

* * *

 

Mickey paced back and forth in the small waiting room, his arms crossed over his chest. He felt naked with his pockets empty of his normal pocket knife and keys, but he understood why the security guard downstairs had made him hand them over before letting him in. From where he was standing in the caged in room, Mickey could see numerous people in various stages of drugged stupors and he wondered what was wrong with them. He stopped pacing, watching the burnt boy in the wheelchair who held his head in his hands, rocking violently back and forth.

“Leslie!” The boy screamed, and Mickey raised a brow as the boy pulled at his hair, his eye wild. “Save Leslie!”

“Johnny, sweetie,” a nurse called across the room, giving him a sad smile. “Leslie’s safe. She’ll be in to see you later this week.”

“They said they were going to get Leslie!”

“Honey, I promise she’s okay,” the nurse said again, moving across the room to move the boy away from prying eyes. Mickey was so distracted by the boy in the wheelchair that he jumped when the gate buzzed and opened to reveal an orderly leading Ian into the room.

“Here we go,” the guy said, gently pushing Ian onto the small couch. “We tend not to eavesdrop, but just keep in mind that the nurse’s station is just right over there,” he said, pointing behind him. “Let me know if you guys need anything.” Mickey nodded at him, watching as he walked away.

Mickey began pacing again, willing himself not too look at the red head on the couch. After a few moments of silence, Ian sat back further on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. Finally Mickey stopped, leaning against the gated window behind him. He stared at Ian for a long time, the younger boy refusing to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t sign up for crazy,” Mickey finally said, hating himself a little when Ian flinched. “I didn’t sign up for crazy and their isn’t a silver lining in real life,” he said again, and Ian took a shuttering breath before letting his forehead fall against his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered, tightening his grip on his knees, still not looking up. “I get it. And I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?” Mickey said, pulling at his own hair, taking in Ian’s hunched and broken form. “I mean, fuck. Beating the shit out of someone on the God damn north side? Didn’t I teach you better than that?” Ian shrugged, tilting his head so his chin rested on his knees instead. Mickey glared at him before pushing himself off the wall and sitting down next to Ian on the couch. Ian stretched his long legs in front of the, crossing them at his ankles.

Mickey reached out, wrapping his hand around Ian’s thigh and squeezing, thinking about where he wanted this conversation to go. He’d had it all planned out before Ian had walked in, but now Mickey couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to say for the life of him. He squeezed Ian’s leg harder, internally beating himself up because he was supposed to be the one who had control of his life. He was supposed to be the one in control of this conversation. Mickey shook himself out of his head when Ian let out a quiet whimper.

“You’re hurting me,” he whispered, his hand lying on top of Mickey’s. Mickey looked down, noticing how hard he was squeezing the smaller boy’s leg. He tightened his grip just a second longer before letting go all together. Instead he reached out, twisting the two bracelets that were wrapped around Ian’s wrist. He ran his thumb over the blood red one listing Ian’s new allergy before moving to the ID bracelet. ‘Gallagher, Ian C. (04/11/1996)’ was written in block letters on the top of the band, followed by a bunch of information Mickey didn’t understand. He stared at the band for a long time before clearing his throat.

“What’s the C stand for?” he asked, and Ian wrinkled his brow before glancing up at Mickey in confusion.

“Clayton,” he answered slowly, swallowing thickly. “My real dad’s name.”

“Right,” Mickey said, going back to rubbing his thumb over the red allergy band. “You okay? Fi said you had a seizure.” Ian gave him another confused look before shrugging his shoulders.

“I guess. Apparently I had more than one. I don’t really remember what happened. I only just got out of the hospital wing on Thanksgiving though. And they’ve got me taken something else, but apparently I’m not allergic to that.”

“Good,” Mickey said, nodding his head, letting Ian’s wrist drop out of his hands as he stared straight ahead. Ian stayed silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He knew Mickey was here to tell him they were done and then stalk off. But he’s so confused as to why Mickey’s just sitting here and the fact that the drugs are making his head fuzzy doesn’t help what so ever.

“Fiona’s given me your bed until you get home,” Mickey said suddenly, and Ian about gave himself whiplash trying to look up at him. “Well, I’ve actually taken Lip’s bed and he’s taken yours, but same thing. Gets me out of my dad’s place and keeps me from living under the El like some homeless freak, so I’ll take it.”

“How…How did you convince her to do that?” Ian asked quietly, scratching at his elbow slightly.

“Told her the truth,” Mickey said with a shrug. “It was Lip’s idea, really. Told her about us and my dad and all that shit and she laid down some rules. I’ve been there since right after you got arrested. It’s working out, I guess.”

“I…You told her?” Ian asked, his eyes wide and his mind working a million miles an hour as it struggled to keep up.

“Yeah. I guess I had kind of figured you already had. And if I was ever going to be allowed to visit your ass in here, I was going to have to suck up to your sister,” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t get it,” Ian said suddenly, and Mickey could see the confusion on his face.

“What don’t you get, Firecrotch?” Mickey asked, turning to look at Ian.

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me. I mean it was my fault your dad-“

“Hey!” Mickey yelled, grabbing Ian’s leg again and Ian flinched, glancing away. “That wasn’t your fault. That was that sick bastard’s fault. I never blamed you for that. I pushed you away to keep you safe from him, clearly you didn’t understand that either. “

“So you’re not going to leave?” Ian asked quietly, his green eyes wide as he met Mickey’s eyes.

“No. Not yet, at least. You’ve stuck with me so I feel like I owe you to at least try to deal with this,” Mickey mumbled, waving his hands at their surroundings to make his point.

“Oh,” Ian said quietly. They sat quietly before Mickey turned to Ian again.

“Bunt guy in the wheelchair? What’s his story?”

“He’s a schizophrenic who went off his meds and burnt his house down with his parent in it. Almost killed himself in the process I guess,” Ian mumbled, scratching at his arm again.

“Shit. Who’d Leslie?”

“The girlfriend he went off his meds for,” Ian said and Mickey nodded.

“I think Debbie’s got herself a boyfriend,” Mickey said, trying to keep Ian talking. The red head chewed on his lip for a minute before looking up a Mickey. Before he even opened his mouth, Mickey could tell the change in his eyes.

“If you were planning on sticking around…Why didn’t you sign that testimony?”

“What?” Mickey asked, backing away from Ian slightly.

“The one talking about ‘my change in moods and odd behavior?’ The testimony that helped me get locked in here!” As Ian spoke, his voice grew louder.

“Hey, we did that to help you,” Mickey tried to explain, his blue eyes wide in confusion at the sudden mood swing.

“No! You just wanted me out of your hair! You wanted me out of the way so I couldn’t tell anyone your stupid little secret! About how you like it up the fucking ass and you’re gay and you love me!” Ian yelled, backing Mickey up against the window, pushing at him roughly with the palms of his hands. Mickey tried to grab his wrists and gently push him away but Ian pushed harder. “You just wanted an excuse to get rid of me!”

“Stop pushing me and calm down,” Mickey murmured, grabbing a hold of Ian’s wrists again. He looked up and could see the orderly from earlier climbing to his feet from behind the desk. “That’s all bullshit and you know it. We signed those fucking papers to keep you out of juvie or real jail. Not because we actually wanted you in here. Now lower your fucking voice.”

“Why won’t you just love me?” Ian yelled, his face crumpling as he stared at Mickey. “I don’t know what to do to make you want me!”

“Ian,” the orderly said, and Mickey looked up, torn between needing to make the broken red head in front of him to understand and wanting the orderly to take the boy away. “Ian, I think that’s enough for the day. Why don’t we get you back to your room.” The man met Mickey’s eye and Mickey nodded his head slightly.

“Coward!” Ian yelled, trying to get back to Mickey as Jake lead him from the room. “You’re a coward Mickey Milkvoich!” And Mickey hated that he wanted to agree.

* * *

 

“What the fuck?” Lip said, jumping when Mickey slammed the back door shut later that day. “What’s with you?”

“Did you guys tell him to make it believable?” Mickey said, pushing Lip against the fridge. “Did you tell him to act extra crazy so they wouldn’t kick him out and into real prison?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Lip asked, grabbing Mickey’s arms and pushing him away.

“Ian. One minute he’s this quiet backwards mess that I’ve never seen him be before, then he’s yelling that I just wanted to get rid of him and that’s why I signed the testimony. Then he’s crying that he just wants me to love him and pushing me. An orderly came in to get him then and he keeps screaming that I’m a coward as their dragging him away. What the fuck, man.”

“Mickey,” Lip said quietly, following Mickey into the living room where the Milkovich boy threw himself face down onto the couch. “Ian’s bi-polar Mickey. That’s not an act. Clearly they don’t have his meds quite balanced yet if he went that far off the handle, but that’s why he’s in there. It’s not just the court sentence. It’s to get him help now before things get to bad. Just give him a while. The docs will get him on a good combination of drugs and clear him up a bit and he’ll eventually be more like the old Ian.”

“He’s right,” Mickey mumbled, and Lip raised a brow, looking down at Mickey. “I am a coward, ‘cause even when he’s screaming at me, I still can’t give him what he wants. And maybe I did think for a minute that if he was in there he couldn’t go telling everyone about us. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I swear to God if you tell me things are going to be okay, I’m going to fucking kick your ass.”

Lip stood back, watching as Mickey marched out the front door, slamming it behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo my laptop crashed and I'm stuck using an old one that has keys that stick and a version of word that keeps giving me grammar suggestions that I know aren't right. So I'll take the blame for any mistakes because of that. I hope you all liked it!


	6. Chapter 6

“So, Ian, you had your first visitor yesterday,” Dr. Jones said, his legs crossed and one toe bobbing in the air.

“Yeah,” Ian mumbled, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch.

“And according to the orderlies on your floor, it didn’t go so well.” Ian sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He stared at his hands as he wrung them together, chewing nervously on his lip.

“I don’t know why I got so upset. I mean I get why he did what he did. I really do. I just… I just wanted him to admit that I mean something to him,” Ian said, his voice low.

“Can you tell me about this man? Mickey, right? Your sister was very insistent about him being on the visitation list.” Dr. Jones flipped through his notes, running his fingers along the page. “Fiona said that he was someone who could get through to you and that he means a lot to you. Who is he to you, Ian?”

Ian swallowed thickly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He rocked back and forth slightly in his crouched position before launching himself to his feet. The red head paced back and forth in front of the couch, pulling slightly at his hair that had grown out just slightly.

“He…uh…he…” he let out a gasping breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

“Take a deep breath, Ian,” Dr. Jones said in his calming voice, setting his notebook aside as he climbed to his feet. “Come on, deep breath, you’re fine. No one will judge you here.” The taller man gently took Ian’s elbow, leading him back to the couch where the teen collapsed in a heap.

“He’s…he makes me feel real. He gets me.”

“How did you meet Mickey?” Dr. Jones asked, reaching for his notebook before sitting on the other end of the couch.

“We grew up in the same neighborhood,” Ian whispered, tucking his legs under him. “We used to be on the same little league baseball team. He got kicked off the team for pissing on first base though.” Ian smirked at the memory and Mickey need to get back at the coach.

“Is that where your relationship with him began?” the bald doctor inquired, a small smile on his face.

“Hardly,” Ian laughed, staring at his hands some more. “It was a fluke. His…his sister, was in love with me. This was before she became my best friend and before she knew I was gay. She kept trying to come onto me and when I turned her down she made up some story to get Mickey to come kick my ass.” Ian swallowed thickly, spinning his ID bracelets around his wrist before continuing. “He was after me for quite some time until I told Mandy the truth. That didn’t stop him from hassling my boyfriend at the time.

“Mickey stole a gun from Kash and so I went to his house to get it back. We got in a physical fight which somehow led to us fucking. And it just kept happening.”

“Is that all your relationship was with Mickey? Sex?” Dr. Jones questioned, causing Ian to flinch. Even though not many people knew about them, they all assumed it was about sex.

“No,” Ian gasped, letting out several deep breaths before continuing. “I mean, that’s how it started, yes. But it was a lot more than that. It…it wasn’t just fucking.” The boy’s heart rate had sped up again as he continued to struggle to draw in a breath.

“Ian, these attacks? This struggling to breath, does this happen often?” Ian swallowed thickly, a pained expression crossing his face as he struggled to do so.

“S…sometimes. When I’m thinking about Mickey. And the future. And why I’m here. And that kind of stuff.” Ian made another face, focusing on trying to right his breathing. “I don’t know why though.”

“Ian, you’re having a panic attack. That’s completely expected in this situation,” the doctor explained as he scribbled in his notes. “I’m going to start you on a benzodiazepine which will help with the anxiety. We’ll also start working with you on some breathing and meditation exercises to help ease the severity of the attacks. Hopefully after sometime, the benzodiazepines can be used on a prn, or as needed, basis. I think we’re finished here for the day. I’ll send word to have the medication delivered to you, then you can spending some time resting.” Ian sighed, nodding his head as he followed Dr. Jones out of the room.

* * *

 

Mickey sighed heavily, running a hand through his messy hair as he simultaneously chewed on his pencil. His blue eyes red the same sentence over and over again before he let out a frustrated grow and slammed the pencil on the table.

“You okay?” Fiona asked, a brow raised as she stuck the casserole she was making in the oven. “You’re only on the first page.”

“Yeah, well maybe I have more important shit on my mind. You know, my bo-Ian is bat shit crazy and my dad is probably still out for my head. I don’t know why I thought I could do this now. There’s too much shit going on.” Fiona sighed, throwing the towel she had slung over shoulder onto the counter before moving to the fridge to grab two beers. She moved over to the table, placing the other beer down before Mickey.

“Rule one, don’t call him that. You don’t get to throw this in his face every time you get upset. I know this isn’t easy, but this isn’t something he can help.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Mickey mumbled, taking a large swig of his beer.

“Trust me, I get it. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with someone with a Bipolar diagnosis. I blamed Monica for a lot. I used to think it was all her fault and that if she’d just taken her damn meds then maybe we could have been a real family. But it’s not that easy. Even on the meds there will be good days and bad days and even worse days. And you can’t throw that in his face when things get tough. He’s trying, Mickey.”

“I know,” the boy mumbled, picking at the label on the bottle in his hands.

“Second, your dad’s not going to do shit. Gallagher’s protect their own, and like it or not, you’re one of us now. Terry isn’t going to touch you.” Mickey snorted, nodding his head. “Third, you’re going to take this damn test and make something of your life. Even if it’s for no other reason than to make Ian proud. I don’t care if Lip and I have to spend every night tutoring you. You’re going to do this. I believe in you, Mickey.”

Mickey let out a shaky breath, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip before glancing up at the eldest Gallagher sibling. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me,” he admitted. Fiona gave him a small smile, squeezing his arm.

“Get used to it,” she smirked, tipping the head of her beer bottle at him.

“Hey, Fiona?” Mickey asked quietly, glancing up at her. She raised an eyebrow at him nodding for him to continue. “How do you know so much about Bipolar? Was it just learn as you go with Monica?”

Fiona took a few big gulps from her beer before licking her lips. “At first, yes. I first heard the word when I was about 10. We didn’t have ready access to the internet and I was spending so much time looking after Lip and Ian after school so I didn’t really have time to go look it up at the library or anything. The way Frank always explained it was that she’d just feel down sometimes and that we should just leave her alone and she’d get over it. There were always these orange bottles in the medicine cabinet filled with pills and shit and sometime she’d take them and sometime she wouldn’t.

“As I got older, I realized that a lot of her moods revolved around those pills and that if she wasn’t taking them there wasn’t a way to get through to her. I started reading up on it more after the first or second time that she took off, but for me it was mostly learn as you go.”

“What about Debbie and Carl?” Mickey asked, sitting back in his chair. “Did they learn as they went, too?”

“Um, no. I don’t think they really understand everything. Debbie’s researched it a lot, but I think she’s still confused.” She rolled the beer bottle between her hands, glancing up at Mickey. “I’ll talk to V, see if she has any information you guys can read up on. I guess it being Ian means it’s more close to home for the kids. They’ll need to understand better before he gets home.” Mickey nodded, pulling the GED practice test closer to him.

“I know he said a lot of things that probably hurt when you visited him, Mickey” Fiona said, watching as the thug in front of her started to fold in on himself. “But you’ve got to know it’s going to get better. Just give him some time.” Mickey grunted, picking up his pencil as the older girl left the room.

* * *

 

Ian had thought his head was fuzzy before, but that was nothing compared to what it was now that the Alprazolam had been added to his medication mix. He sat on the couch in the TV staring at a Rugrats rerun that he vaguely remembered from his childhood. He glanced up as a blonde blur moved in the corner of his eye. He closed his mouth with a click, not even realizing it had been hanging open. He tried to discretely wipe the trail of drool off his face as Greg sat down next to him, giving him a small nod.

“I used to love this fucking show,” he gushed, grinning at Ian as he spread his arms across the back of the couch. Ian squirmed away from his tough, nodding his head in agreement. “I mean how badass would it be to be a baby going on all those fucking adventures. All you need is your trusty screwdriver in your diaper, a good bottle and your trusty dog. Just as long as you’re back in time for your nap nap.”

“Yeah,” Ian answered, nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess that would be awesome.”

“It’s even better when you have your best friend along for the ride too,” Greg mumbled, a faraway look in his eyes. “So I noticed you had a visitor yesterday. I’m assuming he wasn’t your brother?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Ian said, squinting his eyes at the TV.

“He your fuck buddy?” Greg asked, letting his arm slid down the back of the couch so it was touching Ian’s shoulders.

“I guess you can call him that,” Ian supplied, attempting to squirm out of the blondes touch.

“Things seemed pretty tense between the two of you. I mean, I wasn’t close enough to hear any details, but just from your body language. And the fact that you were escorted from the room screaming at him,” Greg drawled, grinning at Ian.

“Do you have a point?” The red head sneered.

“I’m just saying, we’re both going to be here for a while. You never know when you might need a friend. If you know what I mean,” he finished with a wink. Ian’s face screwed up in disgust as he finally managed to wiggle free from the taller man’s arm.

“Yeah, I think I’m good,” Ian mumbled, pushing himself off the couch.

“Suit yourself! But you’ll come back, Gallagher. Nine months is a long time. There’s no way you can keep lips like those to yourself.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing that I’m already a month in. Tell your girlfriend I said hi,” Ian sneered, slamming open the door to the TV room and storming out.

* * *

 

“What?” Mickey snarled at the small knock on the sliding door of his room.

“Hey, Lip and I are going to see Ian. Do you want to come with us?” Fiona asked, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed.

“No,” Mickey mumbled, digging through his clothes for a clean shirt. Fiona stooped down, picking up the discarded dirty clothes before throwing them down the laundry chute.

“Why not?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow that the boy in front of her. “I know you guys got in a fight two days ago, but I’m sure things would be better now.”

“I’ve got to work. I’ll go see him in two weeks or whenever we can go again. It’s not like he’s going anywhere,” he growled, pulling his boots on and searching for his jacket.

“Mickey…” Fiona trailed off, a sad look on her face.

“I’ve. Got. To. Work,” he said, a frustrated look on his face. “You want money in the damn squirrel fund? Then I’ve got to go to the fucking store.” He pushed past her, stomping down the stairs. Fiona stood in the hallway, flinching when the front door slammed behind the Milkovich boy.

“Where’s Mickey?” Lip asked, fastening his belt as he joined Fiona in the hallway.

“He has to work,” she said quietly, chewing on her lip.

“You okay?” Lip asked, leaning back into the boy’s room to grab his jacket.

“Mickey’s okay, right? I mean I talked to him yesterday about everything that was going on and he seemed okay. I think he kind of asked for more information about dealing with Ian’s diagnosis.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Fi,” Lip said, steering her towards the stairs. “It’s a lot to take in. We’re old hats, remember? He’s just learning.”

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want him back stepping. He’s opened up a lot to me at least. I don’t want him closing off again.”

“Seriously, Fi, he’ll be fine. Let’s go see Ian. A month is way too long without seeing him.” The eldest Gallagher sighed nodding as she followed her brother out of the house.

* * *

 

Ian shifted from one foot to the other, chewing on his lip as he waited for the visitors he was told would be coming today. He looked up to see Blake, an orderly on the floor, gesturing for him. He crossed the room, a brow raised in question.

“You’re siblings are here. No funny business this time, okay?” Blake said, leading him to the visiting room. Ian nodded, a small grin on his face. Blake rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a grin as he opened the door.

“Hey, Monkey,” Fiona whispered, pulling her brother into a tight hug as soon as the door shut behind him. Ian clinged back, burring his face in her neck as tears filled his eyes.

“I miss you,” he whispered, letting Fiona rock him back and forth where they stood. She gave him one last squeeze before pulling back slightly, framing his face in her hands.

“I miss you, too. You look good, though. Are they feeding you enough?” Ian snorted, giving her a small grin

“The food sucks, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.” He glanced up, noticing Lip staring at him. “Hey, man,” he whispered, chewing on his lip as he took a step closer to his brother.

“Hey buddy,” Lip grinned, pulling Ian in for a hug. They pounded each other’s backs, laughing slightly. Finally they pulled apart, the three siblings sinking onto the couch with Ian in the middle.

“So how have you been? What are the doctors saying?” Fiona asked, taking Ian’s hand. He figured she already knew everything but sighed, clearing his throat before going into his spiel.

“Dr. Jones diagnosed me with Class II Bipolar Disorder. They have me on Lithium and Depakote for that and Alprazolam for panic attacks. I have sessions with Dr. Jones three times a week and we do group sessions pretty much every day. He said they’re going to teach me some stupid breathing techniques to get through the panic attacks or something like that.”

“Since when have you had panic attacks?” Lip asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

“Since I got here, I guess. Or since things with Mickey and his dad went to shit? I don’t know. All I know is they suck.”

“Well then I hope they can help you get a handle on them,” Fiona said gently, squeezing his hand. “Do you need anything?”

“I wanna go home,” he whispered, looking at her with hopeful eyes. She gave him a sad smile, shaking her head.

“No can do, kiddo. Not yet, at least.” Ian sighed, nodding his head.

“How are the kids?” he asked, staring at his lap.

“They’re good. I think Debbie may have a boyfriend. She won’t talk about him, but she keeps getting this shit eating grin on her face,” Fiona said with a small smile. “I’m not ready for her to be dating.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Lip mumbled. “He hurts her, I kill him.”

“Not funny,” Ian groaned and Lip cursed under his breath.

“Sorry dude. Besides, technically you didn’t kill him. And hey, good news, I heard Roger got out of the hospital recently! He had to eat Thanksgiving dinner through a straw, but he’s totally out of the hospital!” Lip blushed as his two siblings glared at him before shrugging.

“Carl,” Fiona said, clearing her throat, “is actually passing his math class thanks to your boyfriend!”

“Mickey’s not my boyfriend,” Ian mumbled. Fiona continued on like she didn’t hear him.

“And he got a B on his last science test. Liam is walking around and into pretty much everything. He also repeats everything you say, so we’re trying to spell curse words around him so he’s not telling the lady at the library ‘fuck.’ Again.”

“Haha, Mrs. Comstock? I’m sure she loved that!” Ian said, a grin on his face.

“It’s not like she thought very highly of us anyway,” Lip said, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Yeah, well I’d rather not prove her right anymore,” Fiona said, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. “About the kids, Ian. I wanted to talk to you before we brought them to visit. Dr. Jones said they were allowed, but I want to make sure you felt comfortable with them coming before I brought them.”

Ian bit his lip, pulling his hand free from Fiona’s as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He continually rolled the ID bands on his wrist around before glancing back at his sister.

“Do you think they’d be upset if I said no?” he asked quietly, adverting his eyes.

“No, Ian. I think they’d understand. They know you’re going through a lot.”

 “I just don’t want them to see me like this. Kinda too close to home with Monica, you know?” He stood, pacing in front of his siblings. “I’d much rather the next time they see me is when I have my shit together.”

“Dude, they’re not going to be upset about that. We all just want you to be comfortable,” Lip said, his eyes tracing Ian’s every move.

“And Mickey?” Ian asked, glancing up at Fiona’s face before swiveling around to Lip. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s not avoiding you if that’s what you think,” Lip said before Fiona could respond. “He had to work. Linda’s given him a lot more hours until she can find a replacement for you.”

“But he said to tell you he’d be here for the next visitation time. Not next week, but the week after,” Fiona said with what she hoped was a happy smile.

“He’s not mad about what I did the other day, is he? I kinda got upset and I didn’t mean that stuff.”

“He’s not mad, man. Seriously, he just had to work.” Ian took in Lip’s face before nodding, flopping back down on the couch. He spent the rest of their visit listening to his sibling’s stories of how the world was going on without him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t resent them just slightly.

* * *

 

“Hi Mickey!” Debbie called when she entered the house later on that evening. The boy grunted, holding up his beer bottle in greeting. His mood had been so foul that Linda had sent him home, claiming she would close the store herself. So he’d came back to the Gallagher’s house to drown his sorrows in a case of beer he’d stolen from the back.

“Where is everyone?” Debbie asked, dropping down on the couch next to Mickey, a glass of milk in her hand.

“Carl’s with Little Hank. Liam’s at Shelia’s. Fiona and Lip went to see Ian. They’ll probably be back soon.”

“Oh,” Debbie said, nodding her head. “You didn’t go with them?”

“I was supposed to be at work. Linda sent me home.”

“Oh,” Debbie said again. They both stared in front of them at the blank TV screen, simultaneously taking a drink of the beverage in their hand.

“You’re not pissed?” Mickey asked, watching as Debbie raised a brow in confusion. “You’re not mad that they went to see Ian without you?”

“No. Fiona said we couldn’t go. I’m not sure if it was just her saying that, Ian’s doctor or Ian. But I’m okay with it. I don’t ever want to go back to that place, anyway.”

“You’ve been to Pine Towers?” Mickey asked, leaning forward to put his empty bottle on the coffee table.

“That’s where Monica was before she left the last time. After the Thanksgiving disaster, you know?”

Mickey racked his brain, trying to remember if Ian had mentioned any Thanksgiving disasters. As far as Mickey could remember, he’d been locked up by Thanksgiving time the previous year, and hadn’t seen Ian until summer.

“Um, I don’t know what the Thanksgiving disaster is?” Mickey said, wondering if he said the wrong thing.

“Oh. Well, Monica had been off her meds and was in a really low place. She tried to kill herself during Thanksgiving dinner. Anyway, she signed herself into Pine Towers to get back to herself. But Frank decided to try to break her out. I helped. We snuck in and helped Monica and her girlfriend out. They ran away then. But it’s creepy in there. I don’t like it. But if it’ll help Ian, I guess it’s okay.”

Mickey nodded, climbing to his feet to grab a cold beer from the fridge. He came back in with the gallon of milk from the fridge, refilling Debbie’s cup.

“How much do you know about this shit?” he asked, lighting a cigarette and propping his feet on the coffee table. “The Bipolar shit, I mean.”

“Just some stuff I read on the internet. Veronica was telling me that they have this support group thing down at the clinic for family members of mental illnesses. She said it would probably explain it better and how to help Ian with it.”

“Oh,” Mickey said, nodding his head as he took a hit off his cigarette.

“Would you come with me?” Debbie asked, and Mickey chocked on his drink.

“You want me to come with you?” He asked in surprise.

“Yeah. I mean we’re all going through this, right?” Debbie said, taking a sip of her milk. “I figured we could take Carl, too, since we’re the three who know the least about what’s going on. It’ll probably be helpful!”

“Calm down,” Mickey said, holding his hands. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Debbie said. They both turned so they were facing the blank screen again, simultaneously taking a sip from their drinks.

“So,” Mickey said, glancing at Debbie. “I hear you got a boyfriend. Am I going to have to kick his ass?” Debbie giggled before launching into an explanation about how wonderful Kyle was and how happy she was. Mickey watched her with a barely contained smirk. As her gushing switched into something that had happened at school, Mickey sat wondering how life would have been to grow up in a family like this. One where the girls weren’t taught to fight for the life at the age of 11 and where they actually shared things. He wondered if he’d ever truly fit in here, or he’d just turn out to be another disappointment. Before he could go any further down that train of thought he shook himself out of his daze and followed Debbie into the kitchen to help start her homework. He could worry about his shit later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long! I'm desperately looking for a new job, and that's taken up most of my time. I'll try to update again this weekend again if I can. Thank you for all your support!

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head for the past week. I'm just ignoring the whole Mickey getting married thing because that's not okay.


End file.
